Christmas holiday is approaching too quickly. So much is keeping me busy, yet so little has any connection to Christmas. That can be a good thing - I'll be spending the holiday with my Sam, so I'm not putting up a tree or going to great lengths for Christmas decorations...lack of money this year doesn't allow for that any way. The weather forecasts that I've heard so far tell of a brown Christmas...that's ok, too, but not for the kids. I heard on the radio some days ago, perhaps it was Dick Gordon's 'The Story' on NPR, about Santa Claus experiences. It brought to mind on year when I played Santa in the Cherrypoint Mall, Sturgeon Bay Wisconsin.
I was unemployed and the season was looking dreary with a tight job market and no positive responses to my resumes. One of the volunteers from my previous job was the manager of the local mall. Bob called me and asked if I would want the paid job of his mall Santa. I don't remember if it was for one week or two, but it was a job and I was thinking of the fun that could evolve. The current Santa had been showing up under the influence of alcohol or wasn't dependable - I don't really remember. When I appeared for my first stint and donned the flimsy, velour suit, it was evident that I didn't need extra padding. As I pulled the beard and moustache over my face I had second thoughts. All the disinfectant spray in the world never removed the sense of disgusting residue from the netted backing of the beard around my mouth.
I took my place on Santa's 'throne' and waited for the first child who still believed in what Santa represented, or even Santa himself. I had rehearsed in my head how to answer children without really promising what they requested. Having worked with families who often existed day to day, I was not working under the assumption that their Christmas dinner, decorations, or gifts would be plentiful. Also, that people who didn't lack money would be taking their kids to a 'real' Santa at one of the upscaled northern Door County businesses that catered to tourists.
An adult woman approached with three children. The youngest was a typical visit, the oldest talked with me and asked for some help for his younger brother, the middle child. Looking for help from the adult, I found that she was the foster mom to the three. She told me they were here visiting me/Santa to see if I could talk ith the youngster, 6 or 7 years old, and encourage him to positive behavior. The boy came and sat on my lap. I asked what had been happening and his older brother said that the boy on my lap had killed a pet while chasing it with a shovel. He then chased the youngest child with a shovel, trying ti hit him. Quite a request for Santa. I talked quietly with him and later talked with an acquaintance at the area Social Services. They were aware of the circumstances.
'Are you a lady?' asked a little girl. She nodded yes when I confirmed her suspicions and asked if she was ok with that. Perhaps that was some of the Christmas magic. A few children later, a girl, about nine years of age said she and her family had just moved. Having learned never to assume anything and keeping the conversation open, I learned that they were living out of boxes in someone's basement. She was worried that Santa wouldn't find her.
I tried to play a little safe even in the decorations and tree area, having been told by several that they couldn't afford a tree that year. On boy, there with his grandmother, asked Santa to keep his Daddy safe. He was in the Iraq war. His mommy, he said, was in the hospital with cancer. 'Santa, could you pray for them?' I told him we could pray right then, which we did.
At one point during my Santa stint I was feeling particularly low....the number of Santas in tv shows who were degenerates, drunks, lonely old men who looked older than they actually were, taking jobs as department store Santas to be able to buy one more bottle of gin! Wow, except for the gender and alcohol, I felt like something from an old movie! There was humor in the time that the mall janitor left early, locking my purse, car and house keys and street clothes in the closet where I changed. I called a friend who picked me up and drove me home...then waited while Santa climbed through a side window to get into the house. Fortunately, no one saw me; or, if they did, it remained their story to tell!
As to feeling depressed or too much like an out of work failure, my friend Randy Warner, brought me to grateful tears as he encouraged me that I was in a perfect place over the Christmas season - kids, people, of all ages came to share their hurts and secrets with Santa. And adults as well as children did come and talk; there is something so safe and emotionally freeing in talking to Santa - whoever is inside the red and white costume. Randy reminded me that as people let go of their hurts to Santa, I could take all of it and offer prayers, then and there, either with them or quietly, privately, and lift them all, and their very specific needs, in prayer. Who else would be given such gifts over such a precious season!? Hugs to you, Randy Warner!
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